


On a Wing and a Prayer

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-23
Updated: 2007-05-23
Packaged: 2019-01-19 20:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12417645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Sixteen-year-old Sirius runs away from home for the last time. Regulus, recognising his part in driving his brother away, goes after him.  Alternate Universe.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**A/N:** Thank you, Thistlerose, for beta-ing the original and the rewrite. 

The first three paragraphs, not counting the date, are from Thistlerose's fanfic, _This Bird Has Flown._

Because this story was written in 2003, the name of Sirius's and Regulus's mother is not Walburga but Lavinia. One of the meanings for "Lavinia" is "pure." Both Thistlerose and I chose that name, independent of each other. As we've written other stories in this arc, I'm keeping Mrs. Black's name as it was originally written. 

_Scindo_ is Latin for "I cut." Yes, it bears a striking resemblance to _Sectumsempra_ , though it antedates HBP by two years. I'm rather pleased by that. 

British spelling is used throughout. 

*** 

_20 December 1976, 9:30 p.m. to 10:00 p.m._

_Rain still pounded the pavement. The air was chilling. He hadn't thought to grab a jacket on his way out. It didn't matter. There'd be hot chocolate on the Knight Bus. He could stand the cold until he saw Sirius again._

_He didn't hear the door open behind him, didn't hear the footsteps. He pulled his wand from his pocket, and began to raise it--but a long-fingered hand clamped around his wrist and yanked it down, and then Kreacher was on him, one arm around his waist, dragging him back._

_"Mustn't do it, young master," the House-elf hissed. "Mustn't leave. Mustn't break his poor mother's heart, mustn't be like the other one, the filthy, sodomising, fornicating--"_

Regulus twisted around till he was facing Kreacher. "I order you to let me go," he said, wondering if his command would be enough, and doubting it would. Kreacher idolised Lavinia Black, and felt that his mistress's orders might as well have been pronouncements of Merlin himself. But Lavinia Black's thirteen-year-old son was another matter. 

The house-elf, as he'd half-expected, ignored him. "Mustn't leave, young master," he said in an ingratiating whine. "That would grieve his poor mother, oh, it would tear her heart out, it would…"

"Let. Go. Of. Me. NOW," grunted Regulus, struggling to free himself from Kreacher's spindly but strong arms. _Please, Merlin, if I could just lift my wand, and signal the Knight Bus…_

Kreacher smiled unpleasantly. "Oh no, young master. Mistress said to do whatever I had to do to keep you here."

Regulus glared at the smirking house-elf gripping him about the waist and decided, quite abruptly, that he had had enough.

"Come, now, young master," chanted Kreacher as he pulled him toward the door of Twelve Grimmauld Place, "enough of this nonsense. Mistress would not like it if you were anything like the one who fled, obscene and unclean monstrosity that he is--oof!"

For Regulus had leaned forward, put all of his weight down on Kreacher's instep, and pulled back as pain forced the House-elf to loosen his grip. 

Regulus lifted his wand arm. No sign of the Knight Bus. Perhaps he wasn't close enough to the street for the conductor to see his signal.

Kreacher hissed. "Evil young master, hurting poor Kreacher," he said, glaring up at Regulus. He backed away and scowled. "What did poor Kreacher ever do to him?"

The brazen effrontery of this statement outraged Regulus as perhaps nothing else could have done on this impossible day. "Do you want a list? In chronological order, perhaps?"

The house-elf cringed, hunching almost double in what should have been a parody of servility--no, not really cringing, as both of his long-fingered hands reached out, encircled Regulus' left ankle and started to pull him off-balance.

Without thinking, Regulus pressed his left foot firmly against the ground, drew back his right foot and kicked Kreacher in the nose. Kreacher wailed, and pressed his hands against his smashed and bleeding nose.

Regulus wheeled about, and raced for the kerb, extending his wand arm as far as he could stretch it.

Without warning, his feet began to slip and slide as if he were running on ice. _Kreacher again_ , he thought wearily.

He swivelled about, pointed his wand at the house-elf and fairly shouted the spell. " _Petrificus Totalus!_ "

The house-elf fell to the ground, completely paralysed. Regulus was unable to suppress a whoop of joy.

At that moment, a violently purple triple-decker bus materialised in front of him. He scrambled aboard, sitting on the four-poster brass bed behind the driver.

_This is it,_ he thought with something approaching dim wonder. _I'm really doing it. I'm really and truly running away from home._

The notion was vaguely unreal. Leaving the familiar awfulness of his mother and Kreacher and Twelve Grimmauld Place was, for one brief moment, unthinkable.

For a moment, he glanced longingly back his home. His former home. If he left now, he'd never be allowed to return. And how he was going to survive, he didn't know. He was only thirteen, and there wasn't a soul in Slytherin House whom he would have trusted in an emergency. Which meant he was going to have to trust to the charity of his brother's friends, and wasn't THAT going to be fun?

Merlin only knew how his brother's friends would react when they learned that he'd sicced the Crups on Sirius.

Sirius would probably kill him for that. Not that he didn't deserve it.

"Youngster?" 

Regulus looked up and saw the conductor. "Yes?"

"Yer do want to go someplace? Yer did flag us down, dincha?"

"Yes," said Regulus. "How much to go to Mel--no, not Melrose. Diagon Alley. I've got a few things I have to pick up first."

"Four Sickles, " said the conductor. "Five for the trip and hot chocolate." 

Regulus counted out five Sickles. He had just begun to sip his hot chocolate when the door to Twelve Grimmauld Place swung open and a small, dignified figure in black stepped out, glancing this way and that.

The bus gave a tremendous lurch, knocking him backwards and nearly causing him to upset his hot chocolate. It reappeared moments later beside a sign reading WELCOME TO CARDIFF. 

Regulus closed his eyes and pressed his head against the cool window, hoping it would take some of the pain from his hot, stinging eyes. "Goodbye…" he whispered, as he wondered what, exactly, he was going to miss. Or who. 

*** 

_21 December 1976, 11:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m._

He ended up in Melrose, Scotland perhaps ten hours later, laden with the maximum number of Galleons that the goblins at Gringotts had allowed him to withdraw, warm clothes, gloves and boots for Sirius and himself, and an apology in the form of a Christmas present. An apology that he only hoped that Sirius would accept. Or was alive to accept.

_I hope he's all right_ , he thought miserably, scuffling through the cobblestone streets. He'd been worried about his brother's health since the night before. Crups were nice to wizards, and ferociously loyal--not surprising, as wizards had bred them, originally, from pit bulls--but the Crups his family owned were not house pets. Those Crups were trained guard dogs for the House of Black, and they never forgot it. 

_"If you like playing the bitch so much, here are some real dogs."_

_I shouldn't have sicced the dogs on him._

_But I didn't know!_ he shouted silently. _I didn't know…_

_Didn't know **what**?_ a voice deep within him asked. _That they could hurt him? Cripple him? Kill him, maybe?_

"Stop it," he muttered aloud.

The voice, which sounded suspiciously like that of his great-great-grandfather, Phineas Nigellus, sneered _. What's the matter, don't want to face the fact that you set him up to be torn to shreds?_

"Stop it, I said!" Regulus repeated angrily, clenching and unclenching his fists.

_Your brother_ , Phineas said, sounding disgusted. _Your own brother. The boy you threw yourself into Slytherin for so that there would be one Slytherin he couldn't hate. You had the effrontery to tell my idiotic great-grandson and that gold-digging bitch he married about your brother's_ _proclivities-- **knowing** how they would react to the news of what he'd been doing with another man--_

_I didn't tell them anything Kreacher hadn't told them already!_ Regulus mentally yelled at the voice.

_\--and then you set the dogs on him._

The last sentence resounded like the clap of judgement.

Regulus closed his eyes, sagged against the white brickfront of Alex Dalgetty & Sons' Bakery, ignored, as best he could, the intoxicating scents of black buns, savouries, cakes and Selkirk Bannocks, and rubbed his temples.

_Oh, Merlin, I'm not a bastard. Please._

_I didn't want to kill my brother._

_Make him be alive._

How long he stood there, he was never sure, but when he opened his eyes, a young Scottish policeman was eyeing him. He stepped away from the shop hastily, and scurried off in the opposite direction in order to find the post owlery.

When he found the owlery, which was in an entirely different part of town than the Muggle post office, it was already close to noon; by the time that he reached the counter, it was almost one. The woman behind the counter, a round-faced middle-aged witch with dusty brown hair and a gap between her teeth, smiled pleasantly at him. "Yes? What can I do for you, dearie?"

"I'd…" Regulus forced himself to speak the hated name. "I'd like to know where the Lupin residence is, please. I know they live in Melrose, but not the address."

The witch looked perplexed. "The Lupins live several miles outside of town, dear. But if you're looking to go there, they're not home the now. They're off in France, the three of them, and will be for the next few weeks."

The news felt like a hammer blow. "I--I see," Regulus whispered. "Thank you."

The witch cocked her head at him, resembling, momentarily, a plump and worried tabby cat. "Why would you be wanting to find the Lupins? You're no kin to them, I can tell that by looking at you."

"My brother ran away from home," said Regulus dully, wondering why grownups always demanded explanations from children--and why he, a Slytherin, couldn't seem to lie on the spur of the moment. "I thought he might be here."

"Not the dark-haired boy that was here the past summer?"

Regulus nodded. 

"And you've come to fetch him back home?" The owlery witch pursed her lips, as if to say she didn't think much of that idea.

"Merlin, _no!_ " As the words burst from him, his cheeks crimsoned, much to his shame. He hated losing control and he hated blushing. Both were so girly.

He hastened to explain. "I--we had a fight. I did something bad. Something that I have to apologise for. Only now I can't find him." He hung his head and scuffed the toe of his black leather shoe against the hardwood floor.

"I wish I could help you," said the owlery witch. "Have you checked with his other friends? They might have seen him."

Regulus could have kicked himself. _Of course. James. He went to James._ Sirius wouldn't want Lupin to know what had happened, since Lupin was the cause of it, but James, his best friend, was a different matter. It was so simple. How had he missed it?

"Is the Lake District very far from here?" he asked in a trembling voice.

"Not terribly. Might be better if you stuck to Muggle transportation, though. You'd likely get there in less time. And you might want to send your brother's friend an owl to let him know you're on your way."

Regulus thought of trying to explain unleashing the Crups, and winced. "I don't think I'd better do that. Thank you."

"Just as you say, dearie," the witch was saying as he turned around and headed out the door.

"Well," a familiar voice said with amusement as he emerged from the owlery, "the prodigal son returneth."

Regulus looked up, icy dread seeping through his bones. _No. Please, no._

Bellatrix. And flanking her were her husband, Rodolphus Lestrange, and 'Cissa's intended, Lucius Malfoy.

Involuntarily, he moaned. He backed up against the post owlery door and pushed against it with all his might. It didn't budge.

Bellatrix seized his left hand. Rodolphus grabbed his right. Together, they pulled him forward. The parcels of warm clothes he'd purchased in Diagon Alley fell from his arms into a soft, lumpy, useless pile on the pavement. There was no time to protest or to retrieve what had been lost. And judging by their faces, there was no earthly point in doing so.

Regulus trudged between them, trying not to think about the implications of his cousin and in-laws searching for him, or of how Lucius was walking behind him in a perfect position to Avada Kedavra him, should he desire to do so.

Caught. Caught. And Sirius would never know how hard, how desperately hard, Regulus had tried to reach him… 

**_Hard?_** shouted Phineas Nigellus, so loudly that Regulus tried--vainly--to put his hands over his ears. _You haven't even begun to try yet! Listen to me, you idiot. They haven't Portkeyed you back to Twelve Grimmauld Place yet, which probably means they want to intimidate you first. So the question is--are you going to give in? Let them hollow you out and turn you into one of them? Or,_ the voice said softly, _does Sirius mean slightly more to you than the approval of creatures like these?_

For a single mad moment, Regulus saw himself walking between two hideous and impossibly overgrown Kreachers. The sight sickened him.

"Stop twitching," said Rodolphus irritably. "I might think you were trying to escape." He grinned humourlessly at Regulus, a smile as cold and as white as a winter moon.

"I was thinking," said Regulus, with all the chill dignity that an angry and frightened thirteen-year-old could manage. "I do that occasionally."

"Not often and not well," said Bellatrix with a smirk, "if thinking caused you to run away after your miserable sodomite of a brother. And don't tell me he's not. I've known about him since he was your age." 

She studied him for a moment, her expression an odd admixture of dispassionate curiosity and dreadful hunger. "Is that it? Are you like him? Were you hoping for a threesome with the Scottish boy and your brother?"

Regulus' gorge rose. He fought to keep himself from throwing up. "No," he said, his voice thick and choked. "I've never thought of any boy that way. Least of all my own brother."

"Bella," said Lucius in a reproving tone. Bellatrix simply ignored it. 

"I tried to cure him once," she continued in a dreamlike tone. "He was just about your age, too. He looked very much like you…such a pretty boy."

Rodolphus gazed venomously at Regulus. Regulus shivered.

"He was hopeless, of course," said Bellatrix in a conversational tone. She eyed Regulus speculatively, as if wondering if he would be as uninterested in women as his brother. "Not that I didn't make an effort, but really, he had no talent in that regard. It was pathetic. I suppose I was too much woman for someone like him."

"Too much woman? Or maybe not woman enough?" Regulus heard the words coming from his mouth, and wondered if somehow Sirius was speaking through him. "Or maybe not **man** enough…"

Bellatrix stopped walking and stared at him in disbelief. Almost casually, she released his left hand and slapped him across the mouth with her right. 

Regulus allowed his head to roll back, depriving the blow of much of its momentum. He sagged backwards, pulling his now free left arm across his stomach in a protective way. Frantically, he fumbled to retrieve his wand from his right-hand pocket.

Bellatrix already had her wand out. " _Scindo!_ "

Regulus screamed as he felt his skin slash open in a thousand places on his body, limbs, hands and feet, and then begin to bleed. He collapsed onto the street, struggling not to cry as his wounded legs struck the granite cobblestones. He managed to ease his oaken wand from his right-hand pocket, wincing as he did so. He gripped it as tightly as he could in his left hand and waved it. _"Stupefy!"_

Bella fell Stunned onto the street, face first.

"I--you--" Rodolphus glared at him. "That was a stupid thing to do, boy. Very stupid." So saying, he tightened his grip on Regulus' right arm, then gave it a firm wrench.

The world turned mist-grey in front of Regulus' eyes. Sounds and colours seeped into nothingness. Pain was everywhere, licking at him with acidic flames. He looked at his broken right arm and wondered dimly why it was still there. Surely, from the way it felt, it should be no more than black and melted bones by now. He heard a low, ululating moan coming from somewhere. He supposed it was coming from him. He didn't care.

"Enough," he heard Lucius snap at Rodolphus. He pointed toward an antique and rusty pump a hundred or so yards away with his cane. _A Portkey_ , Regulus realised. "Take your woman and go. I will take care of this."

Rodolphus said nothing. However, a few minutes later, when Regulus dared to risk a cautious look at the world, he noted that Bellatrix and Rodolphus were both gone.

"Stand up," Lucius commanded. There was a razor-sharp edge to his voice which said he had best not be disobeyed.

Regulus forced himself to his knees, wincing at the pressure of rock against open wounds, then braced his left hand against the cobblestone street. A roaring filled his ears, and he almost fell over onto his fractured arm. "I can't," he whispered. "Sorry…"

There was a long pause. Then strong hands pulled him to his feet.

"Thank you," Regulus mumbled.

Lucius gazed down at him with the expression of a cordon bleu chef forced to contemplate Cockroach Clusters candy. "Do not thank me. My only wish is to get you home. Come along."

So saying, he began walking toward the pump, clearly expecting Regulus to follow him. It took a second for Regulus to realise that no one was holding him any longer. That he was free.

Hesitantly, he took one step in the opposite direction. It was like walking on knives.

Never mind. It was still walking.

He crept down one street, then another, then another, choosing streets at random to prevent Lucius from figuring out which way he had gone. If only he could get out of Melrose. A pity that there was no Knight Bus, but it was still afternoon. 

Then, in front of the grocer's on High Street, he saw a red-haired woman--accompanied by several red-haired children--putting groceries in a station wagon. 

_Weasleys,_ thought Regulus exultantly. Everyone knew that they were daft about Muggle devices. He was saved. Lucius Malfoy--not to mention his blood relatives--would never look for him among the Weasleys. 

He limped over to the woman before he could change his mind. "Excuse me," he asked politely. "Could I please have a lift? 

*** 

_21 December 1976, 2:00 p.m. to 3:30 p.m._

They were Muggles. 

_Muggles._

He hadn't realised it at first--not until the woman, who had introduced herself as Kate MacGregor of Carlisle, and who had confessed to an absurd weakness for the Selkirk Bannocks sold at Dalgetty & Sons' Bakery, had suggested taking him to a hospital to get his cuts cleaned and bandaged up. 

Regulus had suffered from _Scindo_ wounds before. _They don't heal when treated non-magically,_ he thought wearily. _They don't even heal if you use basic medical magic. You have to use the right countercurse, or you just make the wounds and the pain worse. Thank Merlin for Concealment Charms. If she saw that my right arm was broken and took me to a hospital, and they notified my parents…_

"I promise," he said earnestly, "I'll get them looked at as soon as I find my brother." After all, he told himself, it wasn't exactly a lie. 

"So how did you lose your brother?" That was Moira, the smallest MacGregor at the age of six, and terminally cursed, in Regulus' view, with frizzy orange hair and buck teeth. 

"We had a fight. About something he did." Regulus hoped she'd leave it there. 

"What did he do?" demanded eleven-year-old Samuel, who had brick-red hair, round spectacles and an owlish expression. 

"You shouldn't ask." That was Will, who was a year older than Regulus. He was skinny, auburn-haired and very definitely the boss of the MacGregor clan--at least the portion of it that was fourteen and under. "Maybe he doesn't want to talk about it." 

"It can't have been too bad," said thirteen-year-old Jennie. Her hair was mostly brown with a few copper highlights, while her face had been liberally peppered with freckles. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be going after him." 

What was Regulus supposed to say to that? Yes, it was bad, it was disgusting, and he was furious with his brother for defying their parents in such a spectacularly depraved way. But the idea of never again seeing the boy who had protected him from the elf-heads that watched, from Kreacher, from his parents' wrath, of never hearing his brother teasing him or laughing over some stupid joke, of having to accept that his brother no longer existed in the eyes of his family… No. That was unthinkable. 

"What do you do," he said slowly, and trying to avoid the four pairs of eyes peering at him from the back seat, "if someone who really, really matters does something that you really, really hate?" 

Will looked thoughtful. "Depends on why, I guess. Did your brother do something bad to hurt you?" 

"I didn't say I was talking about my brother." 

"No, you didn't," said the Muggle boy easily. "What he did--did he do it on purpose to hurt you?" 

"No," said Regulus a trifle sullenly. Even in his wildest dreams, he couldn't believe that. 

"To hurt anyone?" 

"Maybe our parents." 

"He told them what he was going to do, then?" 

Regulus winced. "Uh--no. I told them." 

_After the House-elf found a love letter he was writing to Remus,_ he thought. _Then they asked me. And I told them. Pretty quickly, too. After all, they were going to find out anyway._

There was a long silence, broken by Moira's chanting: _"Tell tale tit/Its tongue shall be split,/And all the dogs/In our town/Shall have a little bit."_

"Stop it!" Regulus shouted as he pounded on the dashboard with his wounded hands, almost welcoming the pain because it blotted out the words that kept echoing in his mind: 

_There was a bitch had three whelps…_

_"If you like playing the bitch so much, here are some real dogs."_

_All the dogs in our town…_

"What did you do?" asked Will quietly. "Besides telling on him?" 

Regulus closed his eyes. "I…I set the dogs on him." 

He could feel the car swinging over to the side of the road and stopping. He could almost sense Mrs. MacGregor's eyes boring through his skin to see what kind of a person he truly was. 

"Why," Mrs. MacGregor demanded in a voice like cold iron, "did you do that?" 

"I can't say," Regulus all but wailed. "I _can't_ …" 

"And why," Mrs. MacGregor asked in that same cold, terrible, iron voice, " are you going after him? To finish the job?" 

"No! I--" Regulus stopped to blow his nose on his handkerchief. "I did something wrong. I know that. I don't know how to fix it. I don't know if it can be fixed. I just know that I have to go after him and tell him I'm sorry. And that I'll make it up to him. I don't know how, but I've got to. And I have to find him now, because if I wait, Mother and Father will make sure I never speak to him again. They're disgusted with him. And--probably--with me too, now." He stopped, opened his eyes and took several long, shuddering breaths. 

"Can't you just call or write…?" Jennie asked. 

Regulus wondered briefly what "calling" was. Doubtless a Muggle thing. As for sending an owl post, he dismissed that automatically. 

"I hurt him in person," he said, inwardly cringing. "I have to make up with him in person. He'll probably kill me, but--I have to." _I wish I didn't have to,_ he added silently, _but I do_. 

No one had much to say after that. Regulus kept his head turned facing the window so that he wouldn't have to meet anyone's eyes. He chewed his lip until it was bloody. 

_Please, Sirius,_ he mutely implored his brother. _Be all right. Please. Please forgive me._

At last the station wagon stopped in the centre of Carlisle. Mrs. MacGregor pushed a button and opened his car door. "Well, here you are," she said firmly. "We have a ways to go yet, but I think you'll do better here in the centre. More food. More transportation." 

"Thank you," said Regulus, meaning it. "I--I never met anyone like you or your children before." 

Mrs. MacGregor bowed her head solemnly. "Good luck with you and your brother." 

Regulus nodded. 

The silence stretched into awkwardness. 

At last he got out of the car. After a minute, he remembered to close the door as well. 

The MacGregors' car took off at high speed. 

Carlisle's afternoon streets were all but empty, except for him. _Better find the magical area of town,_ he thought. _Find a shop that sells sandwiches or something, and wait till evening, when the Knight Bus runs._

A snowflake landed on his cheek. 

Great. Snow. Well, at least, he didn't have to be out in it. 

He walked to the corner of East Tower and Lowther, the wounds on the soles of his feet causing him to wince as he did so. The snow began to fall faster, with small gusts of winds causing the snow to swirl around him as if he were the centre of a sleety galaxy. 

Then, suddenly, he heard a dreadful howl--still several miles away, but closing fast. 

_Oh Merlin._

_Wind,_ his mind gibbered, _it's just the wind, howling through the north, winds blow during snowstorms, that happens all the time, nothing to be afraid of, nothing at all…_

Regulus stared off in the direction from which the howl had come and broke into a run, as one word kept beating in his head like the boom of a snare drum: 

_Crups._

*** 


	2. Chapter 2

_22 December 1976_

He'd been running from the Crups for hours. Perhaps days. Time no longer existed. Time was a spinning wilderness of white filled with ice crystals that stabbed and bit and a northeast wind that sliced through the bone marrow.

His clothes were soaked with snow, piss, sweat and blood. He barely noticed, now.

He was not entirely sure what direction he was heading. When he had started, he'd been heading in vaguely south, toward James Potter's hometown of Windermere. Now--well, he was just trying to get away from the Crups. They could be chasing him into the North Sea, for all he knew.

There wasn't much doubt about what had happened. Lucius had _allowed_ him to escape--this made his face burn, but there was no getting around it. And once he'd done the expected and obvious thing and escaped ("Without even cursing Malfoy, you git," he could hear Sirius say in his mind), Lucius had contacted his parents.

And his parents had sent the Crups to Melrose. To track him. To hunt him down. Like prey.

_"Unleash the hounds!"_

_"Cry 'Havoc!' and let slip the dogs of war."_

The pack had lost the scent in Melrose, thanks to the lift he'd got from the MacGregors. His family hadn't quit, though. Regulus suspected that they'd divided the pack into four parts, primed them with his scent, and Apparated the animals north, south, east and west. Then Apparated again and again, transporting each pack further in each direction as each moved in ever-enlarging circles.

He'd tried getting away from the Crups. Once, he'd even removed Sirius' Christmas present from his pocket --a new broom, with a Shrinking Charm on it for easy carrying--and had attempted to use that as an escape vehicle. 

But the attempt had been fruitless. One hand had slashes on the palm (damn Bellatrix for that!) and the other arm was not only broken (and damn Rodolphus too!) but badly swollen, especially at the elbow. It was impossible to grip the broom with one hand, let alone two, and with the broken arm being swollen (not to mention the fact that he had to hold it away from his body, as even touching it made the greyness and dizziness return)…well, his balance was off. Getting on the broom was tough enough. Staying on for more than two seconds simply couldn't be done.

He'd tried summoning the Knight Bus repeatedly. Either the conductors of the Bus didn't recognise a wizard trying to call for the bus with his wand in the wrong hand, or--more likely--the Bus wasn't picking up passengers in the north of England due to zero visibility. And the snowstorm, of course.

Meanwhile, the Crups were toying with him. Crups were strong dogs, if small; one was enough to kill an adult Muggle. A pack of them against one human--no, he had no chance. If they had really wanted to tear him limb from limb, they could have done it by now. As it was, they appeared to be taking turns. Periodically, one or two would dash forward to bite or claw him. He hadn't bothered to look at his feet since the last attack. He had a feeling that once he saw how badly his ankles had been shredded, his brain would rebel at the notion that he could possibly be walking.

And then--one way or another--it would be all over. Either the dogs would savage him, or he would be captured and sent back…well, not back home. _You can't call a place home if your relatives cast curses on you, or set dogs on you._ _Merlin, Sirius, I…_ _I should never have done this._

_Never._

_I hope I get to tell you that._ ***

_23 December 1976 to 24 December 1976_ After what felt like forever, but which Regulus figured was probably a day or two later, the snow stopped.

None too soon, as far as Regulus was concerned. The snow was up to his thighs. He couldn't even feel his feet anymore. He suspected that this was a bad sign. He didn't care. At least he could walk without wanting to shriek in pain every time he moved.

The Crups were watching him. He could see them from where he was standing -- bullet-headed, fork-tailed dogs with dark, predatory eyes and strong jaws, all lying down facing him.

He shifted position slightly. One of the dogs lifted its head and snarled, showing wetly gleaming incisors.

Regulus stopped moving.

The dog put its head down again and ceased snarling.

"You can't stand in one place forever, you know."

Regulus blinked, and glanced around, wondering who had spoken so loudly.

And stared into the derisive, pale blue eyes of Phineas Nigellus.

There was certainly nothing ghostly or translucent about Phineas; he looked more like his portrait come to life. His thick black hair glistened in the starlight; his thin black eyebrows were sharply outlined against his pale complexion. He was clad in the silver and green of Slytherin--even his gloves were green silk. And, at the moment, he was stroking his small, pointed beard contemplatively and staring at Regulus.

"What are you doing here?" whispered Regulus, peering at the man who couldn't possibly be standing next to him. "I'm nowhere near Twelve Grimmauld Place, and I know you're not a ghost. You'd have been one long before this."

Phineas yawned. "I'm here because you need me to be here. Not because I want to be, or because I particularly cherish your company." He glanced sideways at Regulus. "And you do have to start moving again. If you still want to find your brother, that is."

"Of course I do," said Regulus indignantly. "Do you think I went through all this for nothing?"

"I don't know," said Phineas in an offensively bland voice. " _Did_ you? After all, you _have_ stopped walking. And you must know that Sirius, even if he lives, isn't going to change to suit your opinions. Whatever he is--and he's been reckless, thoughtless and downright brainless by turns--he's always been himself. Though at times it would have been better, indeed, safer, for him not to be."

It was painfully true, Regulus realised. Sirius was always and forever himself. That self might not be perpetually admirable or unfailingly good, but he was always Sirius.

_I've always been exactly what everyone else has wanted,_ he thought with some bitterness. _The good son. The loyal Slytherin. The perfect pureblood. And for the past three years, the brother who used to be everything to me has been my--what? Rival? Enemy?_

_Scapegoat?_

"Don't blame everyone in the world but yourself," said Phineas dryly. "You collaborated. You were willing to go along with that reincarnation of a black widow and my worthless great-grandson, whom I suspect to have the conscience of an amoeba--as long as it benefited you. When your brother was punished unjustly, you never spoke up. When that foul spawn of a kappa and a grindylow searched your brother's room, did you protest?"

"Kreacher searched both our rooms periodically."

"True." Phineas stroked his beard. "Sirius protested, though. You never did."

"What is your point?" Regulus demanded, wishing that he could fall asleep on his feet as horses could. Failure to include that in the design plan was a distinct error on somebody's part.

"The point, boy," said Phineas with exaggerated calmness, "is that you've tossed your entire lovely, creamy, planned life aside for the sake of a brother you don't agree with and have never understood. I, for one, would like to see if you know why."

"I--" Regulus felt as if he were suddenly flailing in the middle of an endless ocean, being swept out to sea by the undertow. "He's my brother," he said weakly. "I can't explain better than that."

Phineas did not look in the least impressed. "So. He's your brother. And the gold-digging bitch is, for want of a better word, your mother. And my worthless great-grandson is, I presume, your father…I can't imagine anyone else being fool enough to want to take her to bed. Blood kinship isn't a good enough reason for what you're doing. Try again. Why does Sirius suddenly matter to you, after all these years?"

Regulus fumbled for words. "I--I care about him. I like him." Words from a Muggle book he'd found in Hogwarts Library once came back to him now. "I highly esteem him. Well…" he added, frowning, "I used to, anyway."

Phineas raised his pale blue eyes to the heavens in exasperation. "Deliver us from Jane Austen!"

Regulus frowned in perplexity. "Sorry?"

"No matter." Phineas regarded Regulus with irritation and something that Regulus couldn't quite identify. "If you ever admit to yourself what you feel, perhaps you'll be able to say it. Now," and his habitual grouchiness crept back into his voice, "are you planning on continuing on toward the Potters', or have you taken root where you stand?"

"The Crups are too close," moaned Regulus. "They used to keep their distance--well, mostly. Sometimes one or two would bite or claw me but that's all. But now…well, look." He leaned slightly to the right. Instantly, three dogs stood and began growling.

"See?" said Regulus, his face crumpling. "They won't let me move. And if I do try to move, they get angry. If I move anyway, and ignore the warning, they'll be on me in a minute. And if I don't move--well, I guess eventually my legs will go numb and I'll collapse. Either way, I end up on the ground, at the mercy of the Crups--or whoever sent them. And I don't know what to _do!_ " The last word was less word than wail.

"Merlin's beard, boy, there are plenty of spells," snapped Phineas. "I can see that standards have truly fallen at Hogwarts since Dumbledore was installed as Headmaster. Why don't you transfigure the snow into meat? I'm sure they're hungry. Come to that, I'm sure _you're_ hungry. Go ahead, try it."

Regulus shook his head. "I thought of that," he said softly. "But I don't know _how_. That's a sixth or seventh year spell. I've only had two and a half years at Hogwarts. And I don't know how to vanish--Vanishing spells are taught in fifth year, I think--or how to charm them all at once, or how to calm them down, or how to cast a Shield Charm against multiple opponents, or how to heal wounds made by the _Scindo_ curse so that the Crups won't be able to track my blood, or…or anything."

"There must one spell you've learned in first or second year that is of some marginal use," retorted Phineas. "Come on, boy. Use your brains. Think. What would you be using to keep them at bay if they were wolves instead of dogs?"

Regulus thought desperately for a few minutes. Then he had it.

_Something to make this work,_ he thought frantically. _Where--?_

Then he spotted a small bramble bush laden with snow.

_Perfect._

Regulus fumbled in his left-hand pocket for his wand, retrieved it on the third try, pointed it at the bramble bush and spoke a Severing Charm.

For a minute, he wasn't sure it would work. Then several of the branches snapped cleanly off and fell to the ground.

Regulus suppressed the urge to cheer. He could tell that those branches wouldn't be enough for what he had in mind.

Concentrating, he cast the Charm again. And again. And again. The bush was little more than a stump with roots when he stopped.

_"Wingardium Leviosa!"_ The branches rose into the air.

The next bit took rather longer than Regulus had expected. It wasn't easy, lifting branches, then putting one down in one place and a second in another without dropping all of them, and then trying to lift all the branches but the ones that you had just put down. By the time he was done, Regulus had a pounding migraine, and felt as if he'd been trying to lift the world with one hand.

_I'll bet the Ministry sends me ten million owls for violating the directives against underage wizardry,_ he thought, rubbing his head. _I bet I get expelled._ The thought made him laugh. When you were starving, bleeding, freezing, up to your thighs in snow, and in danger of being killed by a pack of Crups, the threat of expulsion from secondary school paled considerably.

_Anyway,_ he thought, wiping the sweat from his face before it could freeze _, the family will bribe the Ministry not to charge me._ He was fairly certain of that. The family might not care for him, but the disgrace of having a Black charged and expelled would be unendurable for them. Not to mention that the last thing any of his kin wanted was for him to tell the Ministry that he had been in life-threatening danger and had had no choice. Some poor but honest idiot might start asking uncomfortable, scandal-making questions about why he'd been in danger in the first place…and who put him there.

Next he enlarged the brambles. That, too, proved difficult. _Engorgio_ wasn't a hard spell by any means, but getting something to _stay_ enlarged instead of reverting to its normal size after a few minutes was, for a thirteen-year-old wizard, a formidable task.

The Crups had more or less ignored the levitation spell, but the Engorgement Charm upset them. They snarled and bit at the enlarging and shrinking branches, clearly recognising the presence of magic but unnerved by bits of wood that moved. Dead wood was not supposed to move.

Two of the Crups leaped on a bramble that was blowing up like a balloon, and attempted to bite and claw it into submission.

The branch shrank, then abruptly enlarged to the size of a javelin, stabbing one of its would-be attackers through the chest.

Its companion dragged the dying Crup far away from the brambles. Half the pack followed.

A helpless, hopeless whimper.

A savage, territorial snarl.

Hungry howls.

And then the crunch of splintering bone, the chewing of soft meat.

Regulus froze. _They're getting hungrier. Whether an animal is magical or not doesn't matter now. Soon…_

_One more spell,_ he told himself. _Just one more._

He waved his wand at the brambles--which had finally stabilised, becoming the size of branches from a hundred-year-old oak--forming a semicircular fence between himself and the Crups. He took a deep breath.

_"Incendio!"_

Nothing happened.

Regulus stared at the brambles. It should have worked. He'd done everything right. He knew it.

He tried again.

The barest wisp of smoke emerged from one of the brambles. That was all.

Then it hit him. The snow. The damned _snow_. It had made the wood wet and hard to burn. A Muggle could have figured it out. _Actually_ , he admitted to himself, _Will MacGregor would have figured it out long before this._ He didn't know any Charms to dry wood or to melt snow. And the one spell he needed to use wasn't working.

He felt a wave of helplessness wash over him. He'd tried. No one could say he hadn't tried. He'd fought Kreacher, his family, a snowstorm and some Crups. He'd done everything that he had the power to do. But the snow, the damned snow, had stopped him.

A howl of frustration and rage burst out of him. He dropped to his knees, ignoring dogs, pain and numbness, and, his wand still clenched in his bleeding left fist, began punching the snow-and-ice-covered ground.

"It's not fair. It's not fair! It's not FAIR!"

He gazed up at the evening sky, strewn with distant, icily indifferent stars, and screamed. "I've had it, do you hear me? I want Sirius! I want my brother! I want him back, I want him here and I want him NOW! I want to go home, where Sirius is…"

Choking, hiccuping sobs reduced anything else he might have attempted to say to unintelligible syllables.

Scalding tears streaked down his cold cheeks.

He caught a blur of movement out of the corner of one eye.

_What--?_ He turned toward it quickly enough to see one of the Crups leaping over one of the brambles toward him, its dark eyes fixed on his throat.

_Prey,_ the eyes said.

_Weak, injured, exhausted prey._

_Kill._

_EAT._

And beyond the brambles, Regulus could see the other Crups eyeing him as they too searched for ways over, under and around the barrier he had constructed.

There was no time. None.

Regulus waved his wand and shouted out the word one last time. _"INCENDIO!"_ The spell struck the Crup in passing, singing its coat and two of its paws. It collapsed onto the snowy ground, whimpering in pain.

The brambles all but exploded.

The world was briefly filled with the howls of dogs that had been too close to the explosion.

And then--save for the terrified whines of the few remaining Crups who had had the sense to avoid the branches in the first place--all was quiet.

Regulus staggered to his feet. Somehow.

The Crup that had attacked him was still lying before him, whimpering.

For a second, Regulus stared down at the animal. "I wish I could heal you," he said awkwardly. "But I don't know how. I'm not a mediwizard. And you'd probably try to eat me again the minute I did."

The Crup looked up at Regulus then, with most of the white of its eye showing. _Kill me, then._

Regulus took a step back. "No. Not that spell. I'm not using it."

_Kill me. Please._

"No," Regulus whispered. "I can't. It's too easy. First you start by killing dogs in pain. Then you're killing people in pain. Then you're killing people who cause you pain. Then you're hurting and killing people who might cause you pain, or maybe just inconvenience you. And it never stops. And I--" the conclusion surprised him--"I don't want to be like Bellatrix."

The dog closed its one visible eye. Regulus was grateful.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

He glanced around, looking for Phineas. The irascible old wizard (ghost, hallucination, dream, whatever he was) had vanished. Somehow, he was not surprised.

He returned his wand--now cold and slippery with his blood--to his left-hand pocket, and surveyed the sky. He had to head south-southeast, if he was reading the sky right.

_Or,_ he thought without much hope, _I could try the Knight Bus again. It is supposed to travel to every place on land. If it doesn't arrive…well, I can still walk to the Potters'._

He signalled for the Bus. And waited. For a half hour. Perhaps more.

Nothing. Not a sign of it.

Regulus heaved a sigh, sounding momentarily more like an old man than a boy. Then he checked the sky once more, and began heading south-southeast.

*** 


	3. Chapter 3

_24 December 1976, 6:00 p.m. to 10:30 p.m._

It took longer than Regulus expected to find the Potter residence. Somehow, he'd thought James Potter would be from the town of Windermere, not live in a house on the outskirts.

Moreover, the Bus still wasn't running. Regulus was beginning to think that his family had contacted the Knight Bus's owners and forbidden them to give him any more rides. He wouldn't put it past them, considering that his mother had seen the Bus in front of their house right before he ran away.

He was also beyond exhausted, filthy and light-headed with hunger (four days and nights without food, and counting). And his body was ablaze with pain.

_Just let me find him,_ he thought as he tottered away from the owlery, blessing Concealment Charms that hid the worst of the filth and his injuries. Being dragged to a hospital and having his parents summoned by owl post when he was so close to achieving his goal--it would be unbearable. _Let me find him. Alive. He has to be alive. If he's dead after all this, I don't know what I'll do._

He thought, longingly, of buying something to eat. But he couldn't find any shops that catered to wizards, and his money was all wrong for Muggle stores. Not that that mattered, as practically every Muggle shop seemed to have closed early. Even the local branch of Gringotts, which might have changed his currency for Muggle money, was closed, but at least it offered a terse explanation in the sign in the front window:

CLOSED AT 1 P.M. ON CHRISTMAS EVE

Christmas Eve. No wonder everything was closed. And that explained the Knight Bus too. There'd been a snowstorm for a couple of days and, when he'd signalled for the bus again, it must have been after midnight. Officially, Christmas Eve--and the start of holiday hours.

So close. Sirius was so very close. Only a few miles. Nothing to someone who'd walked and run from Carlisle through, as he'd discovered when he arrived in town, half of the Lake District National Park.

Just the idea of walking more miles made him groan. Every particle of him ached. He could swear that his hair hurt.

He kept going anyway.

When he reached the first house, he clambered into the back garden. The reason was simple; Lake Windermere was illuminated, but the area around the houses was not. Regulus had a sudden and intense vision of himself walking past a darkened area in front of the Potter residence--not even seeing the Potter residence--and wandering off into a forest or onto the cold and icy fells once more.

He shuddered at the thought. No, back gardens were safer. At least they were close to the houses.

Fortunately, a number of packages too heavy for owl post had been warded against thieves and left on the back stoops of several houses. As he came to each package, he read the names with interest: "To Simon Phyfe..." "Margaret Gilfeather…" "To the Stantons…" "Elizabeth Potter…"

_Potter._ He'd found it.

He sank down on the cold step of the back porch in sheer relief.

As he sat down, he jostled the package with Elizabeth Potter's name on it. It jangled and clanged, ringing out a series of vaguely musical yet wholly discordant notes. 

An Anti-Theft Charm. And he'd just set it off. Wonderful. 

A light appeared in an upstairs window. "Who's there?"

"Regulus," Regulus said, or tried to say. Instead, he started coughing and was unable to stop.

"Who's _there?_ " A window crashed open, and James Potter, looking rather irritated, stuck his head out.

"Regulus!" Regulus shouted as loudly as he could. "Is Sirius there?"

James drew his head back without answering. In the background, Regulus thought he could hear a man swearing and a woman muttering unladylike imprecations. Then he heard James say in a chilly and final tone, "Mum, Dad, don't worry. I'll take care of it."

The window slammed shut. A few minutes later, Regulus heard the dull thud of feet in trainers stomping down the stairs. Barely a second after that, Regulus saw the back door yank open, framing a scowling James Potter.

James gazed down at him in utter disgust. "I don't know how you have the nerve to show your face around here," he said finally. "I suppose you brought the rest of your foul family with you. Well, he's not going back. He deserves better than you lot." So saying, he started to close the door.

"Yes," Regulus said bitterly. "He does deserve better. Lots better."

The door stopped closing.

"You _agree_ with me?"

"Yes."

"This is some sort of trap, isn't it?" said James, his hazel eyes glinting suspiciously. "This is where I start feeling that you're not such a terrible person after all, and then I open the door and your foul family comes in, Stuns and curses us and snatches Sirius. Is that how it's supposed to go?"

"NO!" _Merlin, this is going all wrong._ "I'm alone. I swear by blood and fire that I'm alone. My family doesn't know where I am. And I'm not here for them, anyway. It's about Sirius. I did something to him, James. Something really…shitty." He couldn't remember ever using the word before, but it seemed appropriate.

"You set the Crups on him." James' voice sounded eeriely like that of Phineas pronouncing judgement.

"Yes," said Regulus dully. "I did. It was stupid and cruel and I don't have the slightest excuse. I wish I'd never even considered it. I've spent the past four days and nights wondering if he's alive--or if I murdered him."

"He's alive. Just, " said James, clipping off each word with finality.

Regulus struggled not to cry. He had a feeling that James would think he was doing so for effect.

"Could I see him? Please?"

"No."

The refusal was both swift and unexpected--so much so that Regulus was left staring at James in utter disbelief.

"I don't want you hurting him again," continued James. "He's been through enough. Enough and too much. He's my brother, and I'll kill anyone who tries to hurt him." **_My_** _brother,_ the tone said. _Not yours. Never yours._

"Please," whispered Regulus. "Just let me see him. Just for a minute, so that I know he's alive. I need to tell him that I was wrong. That I'm sorry for what I did."

"You think 'I'm sorry' wipes out everything?" James laughed sourly.

Regulus fought his way to his bleeding, protesting feet. "No," he said quietly. "No, I don't. I don't think there's any way to make up to him for what I did. I don't think he'll ever like me again. I doubt he'll ever trust me. And I'm sure he won't consider me his brother.

"But I still have to tell him. I have to tell him that I know I was wrong. That I shouldn't have set the dogs on him. Or answered my parents' questions after Kreacher found--what he found--in Sirius' room. That I know that hurting him is obscenely wrong. And that I'll never, ever do anything like that as long as I live. Longer, maybe.

"And I don't care what the rest of the Blacks say. Or the rest of the purebloods. Or You-Know-Who's people. I will never hurt him again. Or anyone he loves." His breath was coming in convulsive gasps now. He sagged against the doorframe. "Please…I have to tell him…"

James, looking nonplussed, scrutinised him for a minute, then motioned him inside.

As Regulus entered the Potter home, he thought for a moment that he felt something fizzle. Then he noticed James staring at him, glancing from the slice wounds visible on Regulus' hand and neck to the broken arm to the bleeding ankles.

"Merlin's beard, Regulus--what _happened_ to you?"

"Bellatrix," said Regulus succinctly. "Rodolphus. And Crups."

James looked like he was about to explode. "Why didn't you **say** something?"

"I didn't want your sympathy," Regulus said. "I wanted you to listen to me. _Really_ listen. And _believe_." He frowned. "Why can you see what's wrong with me? I cast a Concealment Charm back in town when I went to the post owlery to check on your family's address. I know I didn't take it off."

"Mum put an anti-Disguise Charm on the entrances," James said, looking a trifle embarrassed. "Er--Charlotte…that's my cousin, she'll be at Hogwarts next year…we've--I mean **she's** \--been casting a lot of disguise spells on visiting relations. Just to improve their appearance, of course. And Mum didn't like that very much."

Another time, perhaps, Regulus would have been interested. But right now, the only thing that mattered was Sirius.

"Where is he?"

"You know, you should really stop and get those wounds looked at first…"

"Where is he? Please?"

James sighed. "Upstairs. Sleeping. He's got a fever. It's not good, Regulus. You might want to wait."

Regulus just looked at him.

James glared at him in exasperation. "You're as stubborn as your brother. Do you know that?"

A wan smile flickered across Regulus' face. "I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"What, that you're stubborn?"

"That I'm anything at all like Sirius." Regulus straightened slightly as he spoke the words, as if he were a soldier who'd just been awarded a medal. He looked up at James with gratitude. "That means a lot, coming from you. Thanks."

James blinked for a minute or two, then turned toward the stairs. "Come on," he said gruffly. "This way."

Regulus followed obediently.

When he walked into the bedroom, he was only dimly aware of the three adults in the room. James' parents and a Healer, he supposed. Somewhere in his mind he realised that the Potters summoning a Healer on Christmas Eve meant that Sirius had to be gravely ill. Somewhere in the background, he heard a horrified gasp. But he couldn't think about either of those things. Not now.

Because Sirius was there.

His brother was propped up in a sitting position--probably to ease his breathing, which sounded hoarse and congested. He was flushed and sweating with what looked like fever. Timidly, Regulus brushed the fingers of his left hand against his brother's face, and had to suppress a yelp. It was like touching a hot stove.

And his hands…

Oh, dear Merlin, his _hands_.

Regulus stared at the bandaged hands. He couldn't see everything, but the fingers were appalling: black, battered, virtually cut to pieces. _Mangled_ was the only word that fit.

Sirius moaned, kicking the coverlets up slightly at the bottom of the bed.

Exposing, in the process, one of his feet.

Even salved and bandaged, it didn't look like a foot. It didn't look as if it belonged to anything even remotely human.

Regulus gazed at his feverish brother's wounded body, and began to shake uncontrollably.

He wanted desperately to cry, and could not.

The world blurred.

_I did this._

_It doesn't matter if the Crups are what hurt him or not. I helped drive him away. Me, and our parents._

_And that's what almost got him killed._

He suddenly realised that he was sitting on Sirius' bed, and that something off in the distance--he wasn't sure what--was making terrible sounds, like the cries of a small, injured animal caught in a fatal trap. 

He ignored it. What was important was that Sirius was there, Sirius was lying abed, moaning as if he were having a nightmare, as if he were reliving pain too horrible to bear.

"Sorry I tracked mud on the carpet, Mrs. Potter," Sirius muttered, in a blank and oddly buzzing voice. "Sorry I tracked mud on the carpet. Sorry…"

A fist clenched around Regulus' heart. He remembered that day. He'd been five. He had tracked mud onto the parlour carpet. He hadn't meant to. He just hadn't been paying attention. His mother had raved about destruction of family property and lack of appreciation for heirlooms. She had cast _Imperio_ on him for the first time that day. She'd been making him lick the mud from the carpet when Sirius had walked in on his punishment…and had taken the blame in the most sneering and arrogant manner possible.

_He wanted to convince her that he was overconfident,_ Regulus thought, feeling more than a little sick. _That he had nearly got away with something, but not quite._

Without thinking about it, he buried his face in Sirius' right shoulder and awkwardly brought up his left arm in an attempt to sling it across both of his brother's shoulders. It didn't work--Sirius wasn't lying properly--but he did the best he could.

And as he pressed his face into that wonderfully solid shoulder, he tried to tell his brother that everything would be all right, that he'd protect his older brother from their parents and the Slytherins and the whole wizarding world, if he had to, and fuck them all if they didn't understand how important Sirius was. That Sirius mustn't die, no matter how hurt he was, no matter how sick he was, because the world would end, and if the world ended without him being able to show Sirius how wrong and evil he, Regulus, had been, it would be unbearable, so Sirius had to get well, had to, did he understand?

He thought he said all these things aloud, gripping his brother's shoulder tightly until the blood ran from his wounded hand.

He never knew that he had been so wracked with sobs that neither James nor his parents nor the Healer had understood one word. Or that, ultimately, he had only spoken five words, repeating them over and over:

"Sirius…

"So sorry…

"Love you."

*** 


	4. Conclusion

_25 December 1976_

He awoke to voices, and to pale afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows.

For one awful moment, he was convinced that he had never gone after his brother, and that he was lying abed in Twelve Grimmauld Place, trying not to move because his mother had Crucio'd him within an inch of his life for trying to do so.

Then he identified the voices. His brother. James Potter.

Memories of the nightmare journey flooded back to him.

He glanced down. He was lying on a cot that had been piled high with quilts and afghans, and--as near as he could tell, out of the corner of his eye--there seemed to be a bed to his right. Someone had taken the trouble to remove his filthy clothes and to dress him in a pair of worn, much-washed, blue flannel pajamas. 

He checked his arms and torso. The _Scindo_ wounds were healing, and his Crup-bitten ankles had been heavily bandaged. This puzzled him for a minute, until he remembered the half-glimpsed Healer he'd seen the night before. His right arm was still swollen and sensitive, but it at least looked like an arm and not two black, sausage-shaped balloons knotted together. And, he discovered, flexing his fingers, it was no longer broken.

He tried to sit up to get a better view of the room. _That_ proved to be a mistake, as pain like acidic fire coursed through his nerves and veins, and the room began spinning like a lazy whirligig.

He closed his eyes, and willed the room to calm down. It would be most impolitic for an unexpected and unwanted guest to vomit on his hostess's counterpane.

He heard James Potter laugh as he told Sirius that yes, it was Christmas, and no, he hadn't missed it. He heard the crinkle and rustle of paper-wrapped packages being piled atop one another on Sirius' bed as James gleefully catalogued each one.

"You left out a few," Regulus said aloud, half-turning his head to the right and hoping that this wouldn't make him ill or dizzy. "I got some presents for Sirius too."

His brother turned around to face him, his face heavy with disgust. "Regulus. Shit. Tell me I'm dreaming."

"You're not," said James. "He showed up on Christmas Eve, sick, miserable and insistent on seeing you."

His brother flopped back on his pillow. "Merlin's balls. And I thought I was safe from my family and from Slytherins here. When are Snape and Narcissa showing up, I wonder?"

"They aren't," said Regulus. He took a deep breath. "Sirius. James. I need to say some things. And I need you two to listen, not think about how annoying it is that you have to listen, or planning witty remarks or anything like that. Can you do that? Please? I promise I'm not going to say anything cruel."

James bit his lip and nodded. Sirius, after a moment, crossed his arms and scowled up at the ceiling. "Go on," he said tonelessly.

"First off--what I did…it was evil. It was wrong and vile and despicable and bloody idiotic. No decent human being would do that, let alone a brother. After what I did…" Regulus rubbed his eyes. "I don't think you'll ever like or trust me again. And I doubt if you want me as a brother. The way I see it--James is right. He's your brother, not me…because he behaves like it."

James glanced at Regulus, looking startled and gratified

"Anyway," said Regulus, taking another deep breath, "that's the first bit--telling you that I know that what I did was wrong. And that I'll never do anything like that again. I'll never hurt you again, either. Nor anyone you love. Not on purpose, anyway."

Sirius ceased glaring at the ceiling and trained his gaze on his younger sibling. "Does that include Moony?" he asked, a challenge ringing in his voice.

Regulus mulled that over for some time. "Yes," he said at last. "I guess it has to."

Sirius snorted. "Meaning that in four days you have completely overcome your homophobia and are now ready to understand and encourage the existence of alternative lifestyles?"

Regulus couldn't have defined "homophobia" or "alternative lifestyles" on a bet, but he thought he knew what his brother was asking.

"No. I **don't** understand. I don't think I'll understand if I live to be older than dirt. And I _still_ wish he'd left you alone. But," and his face screwed up with concentration as he thought about this, "he was your friend before this. Maybe he still is. I don't know. I do know that James is practically your twin. Cut you, and he bleeds. Maybe me too, a little," he muttered under his breath, before adding, "And if it can be like that with James, maybe it can be like that with your other friends, too. Even _him_." He shot a look of purest misery at Sirius. "I'm _trying_ , Sirius. Really, I am."

"I know," said Sirius. The look of mockery had gone from his face.

"Next…" Regulus turned to James. "Can he stay?" He was not aware of how badly his voice was shaking, or how much pleading there was in his tone.

"Don't want me to come home, is that it?" said Sirius. "That's typical."

"I want you someplace where you won't be miserable!" flared Regulus. "I've had plenty of time on the trip here to think of some choice words for places where people curse you, disown you and set dogs on you. 'Home' isn't the first one that comes to mind." 

Sirius stared at him, open-mouthed. "Who are you?" he finally managed to say. "And what have you done with Regulus?"

"Speaking of your trip, how **did** you get here?" interrupted James. "I would have thought you'd have taken the Knight Bus, but you're too messed up for that."

Regulus could feel himself growing hot with embarrassment, then turned toward his brother. "It started a couple of hours after you'd left, Sirius. I'd just realised that there were a lot of things you left behind when you left. I wanted to find you, and give your stuff back. Call off the Crups. Make sure you were all right. That's probably all that I would have done, too, if Kreacher hadn't started dragging me back into the house…"

He related the story, editing here and there. Bellatrix's boasting he eliminated; that was Sirius' secret. _It'll hurt him if James knows. And I promised not to hurt him_. He also deleted the part about Phineas appearing when he'd been surrounded by Crups. That was just too weird.

"Anyway," he said as he concluded the story, uncomfortably aware that both older boys were staring at him, "that's what happened on the trip here. As for what I picked up for you in Diagon Alley…well, I did buy you some warm clothes and some boots. I lost them when Bellatrix and Rodolphus grabbed me--"

Sirius snorted. "Sure you did."

Regulus turned to James. "What about my robes? I had a lot of things for Sirius in my robes." A horrid thought struck him. "Your mother--she wouldn't have burned the robes without looking to see what was in them, would she?"

James snorted. "Definitely not." He glanced at the younger boy's taut face. "I suppose you want me to go and find out where the things are?"

"Please?" So much begging in one small word.

James sighed and stood up. "Hang on. I'll be right back."

In fact, it was more than fifteen minutes later when James returned, holding a swollen plastic grocery bag that rattled, a thin brown manila envelope and an old shoebox with "CANDLES" written on it in flowery script.

"Don't ask me what these things contain," he said in answer to Sirius' inquiring glance. "Mum just said that there were three or four things in Regulus' pockets, and that she put them in containers, according to size and shape." He shrugged. "Mine is not to question why. Mine is just to fetch and carry."

"Open the bag first, Sirius," Regulus instructed.

James shrugged and handed the bag to Sirius, who ripped the bag open.

Thousands--perhaps tens of thousands--of gold coins spilled out onto his bed.

"That's all I could get out of my vault," said Regulus quietly. "I couldn't get into yours, and I suppose Mother and Father have frozen the account by now. So half of that is yours. And don't say you can't take it, because you can, and you should. I can't give back everything you lost in that house, but I can give back a little. It's not about money. It's about being fair." His dark blue eyes pleaded with Sirius. "All right?"

Sirius didn't answer. He merely replaced the coins in the tattered bag and set it aside.

"Next present," said Regulus. "The shoebox. I think my wand might be in there. If it is, ignore it. The other thing is yours."

James handed the shoebox to Sirius, who shrugged. He opened the shoebox casually, barely looking as he reached into the box, pulled out a bloodstained oak wand and set it on the night table beside his bed. He fumbled inside the shoebox a second time, and this time pulled out a shrunken broom. As it emerged from the box, the Shrinking Charm on it reversed, transforming it back to normal size.

Sirius' bandaged hands weren't able to hold a full-size broom. It slipped from his fingers toward the floor--but never struck the floor. Instead, it hovered between the beds of the two boys, perhaps a foot and a half off the ground.

"It's a Nimbus 1800," Regulus said awkwardly as James and Sirius stared, first at the broom and then at him. "Top of the line racing broom, the salesman said."

"Merlin, Reg," said Sirius in a whisper, as he gazed at the broom with a mixture of covetousness and love. "You didn't have to do that."

"Of course I did, Sirius," said Regulus wearily, sounding as if he were decades older than his brother. "It's my fault that you lost your old broom in the first place. If I hadn't ratted on you after Kreacher found the letter to Lupin…if I hadn't sicced the dogs on you…" He shook himself off. "I owe you a sight more than a broom. And most of what I owe, I can't pay back. Least of all with _things_."

"It must have cost a bloody fortune."

"So?" Regulus was suddenly furious with his brother. "It would cost more to leave you grounded--don't you think I know that? I've _seen_ you fly, Sirius. You're _alive_ when you fly. You're…free."

A sharp intake of breath told him that the last observation had hit home.

"It's your broom," he said quietly. "Keep it, sell it, trade it in or chop it up for firewood. It's up to you. It's yours. All right?" Silence. "Please?"

There was a long pause, and then two somewhat muffled words. They might have been "yes" and "thanks."

An uncomfortable silence engulfed the room. Regulus was just getting ready to say something inane to shatter the silence when Mrs. Potter called upstairs.

"James? Your Aunt Helen's here…along with your cousins!"

"Oh, bloody hell," muttered James, standing up. "Look, I'll be back in a bit. Will you two be all right in the meantime?"

"Of course," said Sirius evenly. "Why wouldn't we be?"

As soon as James' footsteps were thudding downstairs, Regulus heard Sirius rip open the envelope.

"Photographs?" he heard his brother say with amazement.

"Just a couple that I thought were important."

Sirius chuckled as he picked up the first picture. "Andromeda. I didn't know we had any pictures of Andromeda."

Regulus knew the picture well: their cousin Andromeda in her mid-teens, dressed in the blue and bronze of Ravenclaw, holding a trophy for some form of academic excellence while looking appropriately solemn. The only oddity about the picture was how it had managed to survive the purge of memories and photographs that had followed her pregnancy and marriage to the Muggleborn Ted Tonks.

Sirius put the photo down and picked up the second. He gazed at it, his mouth twitching, his face growing steadily paler.

"Is this supposed to be a joke?" he asked at last, thin-lipped.

"Keep looking," said Regulus softly. "You'll see why I kept it."

He couldn't blame his brother. A photo of the two of them at the ages of six and three, with Sirius being cursed and frozen with the Full-Body Bind so that the picture could be taken…well, it was not a joyful sight.

But there were two portraits of incandescent love in that photo, if Sirius had the patience to wait.

And as he watched, he saw an echo of the pure adoration in the photo of six-year-old Sirius fill his brother's face once more.

"It was her you were looking at, weren't you?" Regulus asked. "Our-- _your_ sister."

The look of astonishment on Sirius' face was almost comical.

"Phineas' portrait mentioned her, before I left. I don't remember her." Regulus sounded a bit wistful. "I wish I did."

Sirius stared down at the photo once more, gazing, Regulus suspected, at the blazing love for Electra in his six-year-old face, at the worshipful devotion in three-year-old Regulus'.

"Reg," he said in a tone that was barely a whisper, "I don't know what to say."

Something seemed to crack inside of Regulus.

"Just tell me one thing," he asked in a voice that he didn't recognise as his own. "Is it enough? Do you see? Is there any chance that somewhere down the road--not now, of course not now, but maybe someday in the future, when we're both in our eighties or nineties--then, do you think, you could possibly forgive…"

"Reg." Sirius' voice seemed to be breaking. "Sssh. I want you to do something for me. Turn over on your stomach and reach out with your left hand."

It was difficult, and awoke a dull and merciless pain in Regulus' no-longer-broken, but still very sore, right arm. Nevertheless, he obeyed.

He reached out, and felt a lump of bandages that seemed to have sausages sticking out of it.

The sausages twitched. Sirius was trying to close his hand.

Regulus shifted his palm to fit around the base of Sirius' hand and drifted off to sleep.

***

When James returned fifteen minutes later, he found Sirius awake and slumped in bed, glancing at a wizarding photograph in his lap. The swollen fingers of his left hand were just brushing Regulus' wrist.

Sirius glanced up at him, a look of worry and helpless bewilderment on his face. Then he looked back at Regulus, his expression shifting to one of anger, hurt and pity.

And love.

It hurt, seeing that love in spite of everything Regulus had done. Seeing it probably shouldn't hurt; there was no question in his mind that Regulus was genuinely heartsick over what he had done.

But it _did_ hurt, nonetheless.

James leaned against Sirius' bed for a few moments as he tried to think of just the right words---and, after the right words came to him, a few more moments in which he frantically, selfishly searched for the wrong ones.

At last he laid his hand on Sirius' right shoulder, and said what Sirius needed to hear. He even managed a smile while saying it.

"So," he said with a mischievous grin. "How are both my brothers doing?"

*** 


End file.
